


Heading South On Route 5

by Dimik_Gimik



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: After the Heist, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, M/M, if it aint broke dont fix it au, larry can see right through freddy's BS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dimik_Gimik/pseuds/Dimik_Gimik
Summary: “We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking news,”
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 134





	Heading South On Route 5

Officer Freddy Newandyke turns the key and pushes the door to his apartment open, he leaves the lights off. He peels the jacket from his shoulders, toes off his shoes and falls onto the couch. It’s been two months since he was given the “O.K.” to go back to work at the LAPD, he’s been pushing papers behind a desk. The monotonous daily routine was driving him crazy, filing paperwork that needs to be signed and notorized a dozen times before he can finally submit the forms. Freddy believes the department is deliberately torturing him for a bad performance on his last job. It’s suprising the department didn’t fire him, everything possible went wrong, shit he almost died. Freddy rubbed his forehead and sighed, they could at least let him walk the beat.

Freddy got up and turned on the T.V., went into the small, kitchen and pulled out a bottle of cheap, red wine. “So this is where I’m at,” Freddy talks to himself as he opens the bottle of wine. Ever since the heist he’s had trouble sleeping at night and the problem extends beyond that. He can’t stand his colleagues, they can’t stand him. He can’t relate to people anymore, can’t function like he used to, before he felt the thrill of cheating life and death. The camaraderie he felt with the other guys, the warmth he knew embraced in Mr. White’s arms. Freddy felt his heart being stabbed and drank. He sat there drinking and smoking, watching an old Western film. When Freddy finishes the bottle he gets up to fetch another bottle. Over the sound of heavy, drunken footsteps and cupboards slamming the news’ jingle interrupts the film.

_“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking news,”_

Freddy leaned against the kitchen counter as he bit the cork and pulled it out of the bottle’s beck, like a latex cartoon.

_“A convicted felon broke out of Los Angeles County State Prison today at approximately…”_

Freddy stumbled to the couch and listened intently. He’d have to sit this one out while the rest of the boys had their fun. He took a large swig of wine.

_“The man was last seen in a stolen black Lexus heading south on Route 5 to Los Angeles…”_

A strange feeling overcame Freddy. Most escapees try to flee the state after busting out of prison, this guy was heading for the heart of California. ‘He must have unfinished business,’ Freddy thought as his stomach curled in on itself… Could it be?

_“The man is considered to be very dangerous and should not be approached. If you see this man, notify your local authorities immediately.”_

Lawrence Dimmick’s mugshot glared at Freddy through the buzzing T.V. screen. He stared back at the static image, suddenly feeling cold. Then the image dissapears and the western film is on again. Freddy sat there, the cigarette’s ash clinging to the butt of the stick ready to fall off with the slightest movement. Gunshots and neighing horses gallopping filled the apartment. A shiver ran through his spine and he snapped back into reality. Freddy lit another cigarette and continued to drink. ‘I should be getting the hell outta town,’ if he knew any better, if he cared about his life, he would. He almost died during the heist and he was scared then, he wanted nothing more than to live, to see the job through, lock Joe Cabot behind bars but now. Oh, now he wished he was never born to begin with. Freddy sits and waits for death to come knocking at his door.

It doesn’t come for quite sometime. “A Fistful of Dollars” played, half a pack of cigarettes were smoked, a pack of beer and a beer shit later, when Freddy had momentarily forgot he was expecting company, a knock sounds at his door. Freddy stares at the door for a while, the person on the other side knocks again patiently. Freddy stands wobbly, scraping together some composure before shuffling to the door, unlocks the latch and opens the door. And standing there, tall, leaning against the door frame is Lawrence Dimmick, clean shaven, sweaty in prison garb. He smiles sinisterly, “Happy to see me?” Larry’s hand moves from the door frame to the belt of his pants where a gun sits snugly between his hard gut and his pants.

“I don’t think happy is the right word,” Freddy gestures for Larry to come inside. Larry saunters inside like a cowpoke walking into a saloon, all cool and composed. He checks the place to make sure they’re alone, then he turns to Freddy. The kid is still in his plain clothes, shirt mostly unbuttoned, some spots of wine near the hem. His lips are stained red, he’s holding his arm to his chest as he smokes a cigarette. Freddy’s body is tense but his eyes show how truly perturbed he is. Larry’s hand still grips the pistol. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.” Larry follows Freddy into the kitchen which is barely big enough to fit the both of them. Larry leans against the counter and watches Freddy pour scotch into two glasses, neat. Freddy hands a glass to Larry and they drink. They stand in silence there in the kitchen, between the tiled wall and the high, brown cupboards. Freddy leans against the sink, looking at Larry, the gun, into the living room through the kitchen’s “window.” “You look like shit.”

Freddy shrugs, holding the cigarette to his lips without puffing on it. “You look good.” Freddy looks at Larry’s bare arms, he looks more fit than he last saw him. Makes sense for a guy coming straight out of prison. His hair is shorter too but there’s enough on the top to see some locks curl. Larry takes a drink.

“I did a lot of thinking in prison, Frederick.” So Larry learned his name in prison and when he said it Freddy’s heart did something he didn’t know a man’s heart could do. It sang, it hurt, it yearned for something that wasn’t there anymore. “I was thinking about you,” Larry points a finger at him, Freddy doesn’t respond. “I was trying to wrap my head around why you lied to me… and I thunk and thunk,” he took another drink then set the glass down, “and I came up with something… I think you’ve been lying to yourself and others your whole life.” Freddy’s eyebrows knotted together. “I figured you thought you were cut out to be a cop, convinced yourself you’d do great things for your town and country, right? Put on a super hero costume and go save the world and deceive your folks, your friends, colleagues that you… You, Freddy Newandyke are a good guy.” Larry’s moving closer, slowly. “A guy who can change the world by busting criminals and crackheads. Make yourself believe you’ve got all this power…”

Larry shook his head and laughed, “When I first met you I saw the confidence of a king.” Freddy smiled for a second before it fell. “I’m not gonna lie, I saw myself in you, kid. I saw a kid who was hurt, put down by his family, his country, his God… and I knew, that like me, you had been decieved.” Larry paused. “I didn’t know by who then but now it makes sense… You saw through me, my life of crime, through the lies the cops told you about me, that I was a man who should be locked up. But you were in too deep, you were caught up in all these lies, Freddy, you grew weary of your iniquity. Your well rehearsed stories and the character you manifested, it all caught up to you… I think you found something in me, something that could’ve only been found in a lie… but tell me, Freddy,” Larry closed the gap between them, chests touching as they breathed, he gripped the gun, “was there any truth to it?”

Silence suffocated the two men, their eyes locked in a battle. In the movie men stand face to face in a shoot off, the sound of sand whipping wool cloaks filters through the speakers. Freddy doesn’t know if this is a way in or a way out but his eyes tear up as he replies, “Yes.” He’s too drunk to hold back his tears as they roll down his cheeks, their eyes don’t move from another. “I loved you…” Larry’s hand slowly rises to hold Freddy’s face, he wipes away the tears. 

“Do you still love me?”

“I do… Larry…” Freddy touches Larry’s hand and presses it against his cheek. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“I love you.” Freddy kissed the hard palm of Larry’s hand and held it against his cheek like Larry was gonna pull away. Larry rubs the high of Freddy’s cheek bone with his thumb. The grip on his gun slackens, the hand cautiously moves to Freddy’s waist. They pull each other closer and Larry gets a big whiff of Freddy’s boozey breath. 

“Phew, you gotta lay off the booze, kid.” They laugh for a second until they get lost in each other again, swaying to music that isn’t playing but to a tune their hearts sing. In their embrace Freddy feels the thrill of being sheltered in Larry’s arms. He kisses Larry’s cheek softly, his arms draped over his shoulders, their hips pressed together, the gun pressing against Freddy’s loins. Freddy pushed his hips forward, wanting to feel more. Suddenly, Larry’s hands moved to hold Freddy’s arms. They pull away with just enough room to see eye to hungry eye. Larry kisses Freddy deep and tender, his hands grip Freddy tighter. Freddy holds Larry’s face, runs a hand through his short curls. Their chests are heaving, fighting their need to breathe so they can stay like this for eternity, for eternity an old flame bursting into a wild fire, spreading across the barren land of sand and red verdure, fissures streching across the sandstone like hands on a broad back. Larry runs his hands down to Freddy’s waist and he grips him tight, kissing down his neck leaving stark, blue marks on pale, sweaty skin. Things start moving faster, Freddy grabs Larry’s ass, their belts are unbuckled, pants shoved down, Larry sets the gun at the end of the counter away from either of their reach. Larry’s just about to put it in before Freddy’s leans away.

“Wait, wait,” he reaches to a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of olive oil, Larry’s kissing and biting his back, grinding against his ass. Freddy pours the oil onto his hands and reaches behind to stroke Larry’s cock as it impatiently presses against Freddy’s asshole. It’s barely enough for a smooth plunge into Freddy’s ass and Lord, it hurts but it’s so good to feel Larry’s cock inside of him again. It’s quick and primal, growling and howling overwhelm the sound coming from the T.V. copulating ecstatic and insatiate. Tears fall from Freddy’s eyes and Larry wipes them away, shoves his fingers into Freddy’s mouth to suck and lick and bite. It’s over as soon as it started, Larry comes inside of Freddy with short, sharp thrusts, Freddy follows shortly with a few tugs on his swollen cock. They pant and rest against the sink, Larry’s hands caress his lover’s chest, his arms, he turns Freddy to face him. 

“Come with me,” Larry holds Freddy’s face in his hands, they’re playing the staring game again, trying to find deceipt in green irises. Freddy considers Larry, himself, what he’s got left to live for in this town.   
  
“You’ll need some new clothes.” Freddy says and Larry smiles, they kiss again in a tight embrace.   
  
They pack light with all of Freddy’s money, enough cigarettes and booze to last a few days and get into Freddy’s beaten up car and they drive south on Route 5 heading for Mexico. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ho boy do I lOVE. Prison-Escapee-Larry-Dimmick with a passion to hunt down Dead-Beat-Cop-Freddy. Go get him tiger! Lol 1,993 words.


End file.
